But You'll Never Know
by Pasta and Sin
Summary: There he was- his ray of sunshine, his grumpy ball of happiness, and his precious little tomato- Lovino Vargas. (Hopefully, a multichap.)
1. Prologue

There he was- his ray of sunshine, his grumpy ball of happiness, and his precious little tomato- Lovino Vargas.

Antonio couldn't suppress the giddy smile on his face as he spotted the Italian. Yes, he was stressed by work lately, and there were fifty shades of black under his eyes. Let's not forget that his hair is nothing but a tangled mess but he forgot about all of those as soon as Lovino appeared.

Antonio headed towards Lovino, practically skipping with a silly smile playing on his lips. "Lovi~!"

When he arrived, he was met with a glare. A familiar intense gaze which he was used to so he blithely ignored it. But deep inside, he missed that kind of look that only Lovino can give.

"Did you come to visit me?" Antonio wasn't expecting a positive reply. But then again, what was there to lose? Hoping doesn't really cost anything as well.

Lovino scoffed, arms crossed. "Why would I visit you, you jerk? Did the tomatoes get to your head?" Well, it was worth a try.

"Oh? Then what is mi Romanito doing here?"

"I told you not to call me that, damn it. And I'm here for... Umm..." Lovino looked around, slightly flustered but the scowl on his face remained. He isn't quite aware that he was nervously fidgeting with his foot. "...A business. I had a business to deal with and I just decided to stop by. You should be grateful, you tomato bastard."

Antonio knew it was more than that but he chose to play along. He doesn't really care why Lovino was there, what mattered is that he came. Oh, he was happy, he was relieved even if it's been four days that he was forced to pull an all-nighter and apparently, only this Italian has the magic to do this. Lovino could curse and insult him all day and it would only brighten up this Spaniard's mood and bring a smile to his face. He was that special to Antonio.

From up close, Antonio noticed that Lovino's lively eyes were dulled and he was paler than usual. You can say that the color was literally sucked out of him! Also, he can't help but feel that something's off. He doesn't know whether it was the troubled look on the Italian's face or the beads of sweat forming on Lovino's forehead but his precious little tomato definitely wasn't alright. And to think that Lovino went all the way to his place in that state.

The smile on the Spaniard's lips melted away and was immediately replaced with a worried look. "Are you okay?"

For a moment, Lovino was thrown off by Antonio's question but he regained his composure quickly. "Of course I am. Heck, where'd that even come from?" Lovino made an effort into being more grumpy. He then angrily muttered, "Stupid jerk..."

Of course, Lovino won't admit that he's not feeling well. Antonio would have to find a way to lighten up the Italian's mood or to at least make him feel slightly better. But before he could even open his mouth, Lovino said, "You're asking me that but have you even looked at yourself?" Placing his hands on his hips, he continued. "You look horrible, you silly bastard."

Antonio blinked rapidly, taken aback by whatever this Italian said before bursting in delight. "Oh! Lovi, you do care!"

"Like hell I would!" The Italian flushed as his pliable curl went rigid. He immediately averted his gaze away from Antonio, embarrassed. "You're just being a delusional asslamp. You need sleep, that's what!"

Well, it seems to be working so Antonio went on, trying to stifle a grin. "Shush, little tomato of mine, that's your illness talking. We should go inside and enjoy some churros." With that, Antonio ushered the flustered Italian to his house.

"Illness? I meant what I fucking said!" Lovino didn't know what to feel. He was embarrased, he was mad, he wanted to laugh-he was simply bemused by this Spaniard's somewhat wacky sense of humour.

Antonio shook his head. Taking the Italian's hands with his own, he said, "No, no, Lovi. Lo siento, but we should continue this conversation when you're all better."

Lovino immediately jerked his hand away. "I'm sure as hell-"

"Shh, not another word, Lovino. I understand, I understand. You're just probably hungry, that's why you're saying that." Antonio kept a serious face on which made it much more difficult for Lovino to suppress his laughter. How stupid exactly is this Spaniard? God, Lovino can't even decide what to call this level of idiocy. There's so many words in English- 1 million fucking words and it's still not enough to describe how much of a fool Spain was being right now. Antonio, on the other hand, was enjoying this.

Lovino's lips were twitching into a smile but he's still struggling to maintain his 'default scowl' and Antonio was making everything harder! He throws his hands up in the air, half-groaning, half-laughing. "I swear to God, this is madness! You're fucking crazy! Thi-this... You're out of your mind, you bastard."

It was this side of Lovino that made Antonio fall for him. His contradicted replies, his unrestrained insults, and most especially, that rare smile. Deciding that he wants to see more of that smile, an idea pops in his mind. An incredibly stupid idea that will somehow work. "This might sound crazy but-"

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Everything you've been saying IS crazy, dammit. What else do you want to say?"

"I think you should catch me because I'm falling. Ay! Falling for you~" The Spaniard winked, following it with a chuckle. He then entwined his hand with Lovino's.

Lovino has never looked so confused. Did Antonio just _confess_ to him? No, that can't be right. Then what was that? Was he actually practicing some pick-up lines on him? That bastard.

Lovino straightaway withdrew his hand from Antonio's hold but the Spaniard stubbornly held on with sparkling eyes. This wasn't really the reaction that Antonio expected to see but seconds later, the Italian's eyes widened in realisation. He looked like he would facepalm any moment but he didn't. Instead, he said, "Well, do you know what I think?"

Antonio's face lit up. Excitement bubbled in his stomach. He eagerly stood up and leant towards Lovino. "What?"

"I think you should shut the fuck up." Lovino walked past Antonio and entered his house but the Spaniard swore he saw that Lovino was smirking.

He ran after the Italian. "Lovi, wait for me! I'm not yet done!"

"I am too fucking sober to deal with your shit, Spain."

Yes, this was his ray of sunshine, his grumpy ball of happiness, his precious little tomato, _Lovino Vargas._


	2. Chapter 1

"Fucking shi-!" The words left his lips before Lovino knew it as his stomach turbulently lurched forward. He hastily shut his eyes as he braced himself for the impact. It was sudden and he absolutely had no idea how'd this happened, but he knew it was gonna hurt real bad. Soon, a few painfully long seconds have past but nothing happened.

Lovino dared to open an eye, his breath hitching, and what greeted him was Antonio's anxious face as the Spaniard loomed over Lovino from behind. Well, not only was this Señor asshole doing that, but he was actually the one who caught the Italian, holding him firmly and protectively. Lovino was practically inches away from the tiled floor and if it weren't for this idiot, his ass would've been on that ground by now.

The Spaniard sighed in relief. "Are you alright, Lovi?"

For a moment, they caught each other's eyes but Lovino jerked his head away as uneasiness began to bloom in his chest. He wasn't familiar with this feeling and he hated it. He doesn't understand why he felt like that- why he felt funny _only_ around this Spaniard. But he quickly tried to shake it off and reasoned that it must be because Spain was looking at him. That's right. It can't mean anything else and... How dare that fuckstard shamelessly look at him like that?

"Do I look like I'm alright to you?" He spat out, annoyed not by the Spaniard's question but by the stubborn butterflies he felt in his stomach. He could feel Antonio's warm breath and the Italian almost immediately flushed at their closeness.

Antonio was somehow taken aback by this odd reply. Lovino never fails to throw him off his feet and he found the Italian's quirky remarks quite amusing. He softly laughed to himself as he helped the scowling Lovino up. "Ah, you should really watch where you're going, mi Romanito."

The Italian quirked a brow at the mess of scattered papers on the floor and the ones he slipped on, the dangerously piled up books and folders on the edge of the table, and littered cups of coffee placed at random spots. "Dammit, this wouldn't have happened if you actually cleaned this shit up." Lovino wondered what was actually going on with this bastard. Has he been working for days now? But even if he was, what does that have to do with him? Why should he even care?

Now that Lovino thought of it, Antonio did look like he hasn't slept at all. Not only that, his clothes were crumpled, his hair can't even be compared to a bird's nest, and his lips was drier than the desert will ever be. He was gonna have to take back what he said earlier. _Horrible_. No, it's far more worse than that. He was an epitome of a living corpse!

"Lo siento, lo siento." The Spaniard flashed him a goofy grin, scratching the back of his head. "I was actually gonna warn you earlier but you were so cute that I forgot." There he was again with that damn bright smile. He was always smiling even if nothing was going well. What is wrong with this retard?

Lovino scoffed as a reply and proceeded to scan the place. The Italian may not acknowledge it openly but this was a nostalgic scenery to him. Well, it wasn't really a breathtaking or a tourist-material sight as you thought it would have been. After all, the 'scenery' this Italian was referring was a particular bastard's living room. But it was more than just a living room, it was more than just walls and furnitures making up a house. This used to be his special place- a place that he used to call home.

Lovino paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. How long has it been since he last came here? God, it sure brings back a lot of memories. It excited him but at the same time, it filled him with sadness. Lovino wasn't really fond of looking back at memories since he knows he can't bring back those times but being in the place where he spent most of his childhood... He simply can't help it.

"¿Qué? Is there something wrong?"

Lovino almost tensed at the Spaniard's words. _Almost_. Did Spain find out? Did he know something about Lovino's current situation? God, it was too soon. He broke out in a cold sweat as he clenched his fists. He couldn't bring himself to face Spain. Should he play deaf?

Antonio tapped the Italian's shoulder and Lovino nearly jolted. "Is the mess bothering you?"

Lovino snorted and finally relaxed. He didn't know the day would come where he'd thank God for Antonio's denseness.

"Where's the damn churros? Don't tell me you were just getting my hopes up, bastard." The Italian crossed his arms in feigned annoyance. It wasn't entirely a lie because as much as he hates to admit it, he was actually looking forward to this Spaniard's food. "Tch."

"Why, Lovino, I would never!" Antonio tried to look hurt but Lovino could clearly see that lively emerald eyes spark with joy. "I prepared some in the kitchen."

With that, the Spaniard somehow managed to weave his way through the clutter and arrive at the kitchen unscathed. Funny because all Lovino did was step into the house and the world tilted at 90 degrees and this asswipe just did the cha cha real smooth and he didn't even slip on a single piece of crap. Now THAT was unfair. Yes, the Italian was frustrated at this but he also found it amazing. Dammit, how exactly did that bastard do that?

Antonio was gone for the time being but the mess was left untouched. Lovino hopelessly shook his head and began to roll his sleeves up. That idiot better praise him after this.

 _Time to get to work._

By the time he was finished, the Italian was slightly sweating, and his breaths were uneven from going back and forth and from carrying piles and piles of either trash or stacked documents. He stared at the now-organised place and felt accomplished but he also felt that he had forgotten something- _someone_ , rather.

Cursing under his breath, Lovino grumbled to himself, "Where's that bastard? Does it take that fucking long to get churros?"

Then it dawned on him. His eyes widened at the realisation, _Of course, nobody takes that damn long._ He was a fool to let his guard down. Something must've happened to Antonio by now and what has he been doing? Cleaning? He did look unwell but how could Lovino easily brush that off? _Argh, I'm such an idiot!_

Panic violently churned in his stomach and he gritted his teeth. "Goddammit, Antonio!" His heart thundered in his chest as he waited in silence. _Something was definitely wrong._

There was no reply. "Tch!"

The Italian took off and headed straight to the kitchen, desperately looking for that familiar green orbs and that awful smile. But to his dismay, the area was empty save for the cold batch of churros at the counter. Lovino's brows furrowed. Where the heck was Spain?

There were two extra plates at the end of the table, a sign that someone has been here. Lovino doesn't know why but he has an idea of where Antonio might be and he silently prayed that he was right. He bent down and he wasn't disappointed by what he saw: Antonio was sprawled on the floor, his leg still dangling from the chair he fell out of. His body laid still, unmoving. Almost as if he was lifeless. The Italian was horrified at the sight.

He wasted no time and immediately headed towards the Spaniard before crouching down beside him. He didn't know what to do. Should he carry him? Will something go wrong if he moved Antonio? Should he check if he was still alive? Heck, he couldn't think straight anymore!

The trail of dreadful thoughts was interrupted as the Spaniard groaned before slowly sitting upright as if he just had just woken up. He absentmindedly rubbed his eyes, yawning before noticing that there was actually someone next to him. "Hola, Lovi~ Buenos días." Antonio looked around groggily. "What are you doing here? I thought you were waiting for me in the living room."

The Italian felt a rush of relief. He almost wanted to laugh at himself for worrying over nothing. But this feeling was quickly replaced with outrage.

"I should be the one asking that damn question!" Lovino seethed, slowly turning red as a tomato from the anger. "And it's _Buenas Tardes_ , you dumbfuck."

Antonio flinched at other nation's tone. He didn't quite understand why his little tomato was angry. Did he do something wrong? And what did he mean ' _Good evening_ '? The Spaniard instinctively shifted his gaze from the floor to the window. Sure enough, it was dark and he paused, sighing.

Lovino rubbed his temple, trying to calm himself. "Would you mind explaining what the shit you were doing just now?" Oh, he was twitching with restrained anger. He had just made a fool of himself over this. He then added, "And why it took you a lifetime to get some goddamn churros?"

"Ah... I must've fallen asleep again." Antonio helped himself up, still dizzy. Whether it was from the lack of sleep or from overworking, he doesn't know. Maybe it was both.

"Again?" The Italian's anger dissipated. He should've known better.

"Sí."

Lovino felt so stupid. It was a mistake to go here. He shouldn't have bothered Spain in the first place. The other nation was obviously worn and the last thing he needed was to deal with a difficult birdbrain like Lovino.

The Italian stood up, with eyes downcast. He clenched his fists, no longer mad at Spain but at himself. "I understand." His voice came out as a whisper and Antonio wasn't sure, but the words seemed to be laced with pain and regret. "I'll be leaving. I just remembered that I have to finish that business from earlier."

Lovino didn't wait for the Spaniard to reply. He strode out of the house without even sparing Antonio a glance.

* * *

Despite being exhausted, Antonio pushed himself to go after Lovino and search for him. His hands were slightly trembling from fatigue, his chest felt heavy and tight, and his legs were numb from running around from one corner to the next. He has checked most of the inns, and found out that majority of them are closed. There wasn't much of a difference when he went to the closest park, the plaza, and nearby restaurants and eateries. Antonio seemed like a madman, opening and closing doosrs, leaving customers and clients baffled. Still, there was no sign of him. Sighing, Antonio decided that luck wasn't on his side that night.

"Lovi, ¿Dónde estás?" He yelled in hopes that the Italian would reply. "Lovino!"

It was already late. What sort of 'business' was the Italian talking about? Antonio knew that nobody in their right mind would discuss or handle a 'business' at this time around. Something was definitely going on with Lovino. Antonio wasn't as clueless as he lets on.

"Lovino!"

He received a few bewildered looks from the passersby but his dismal cries were still left unanswered. He clenched his fists, feeling disappointed in himself. He was supposed to be looking after Lovino, to be by his side at times like this, and to reassure him.

Right when he was about to lose hope, a small voice in the back of his mind urged him to go back home because maybe, just maybe, Lovino was there waiting as he was searching out here for hours. His face immediately lit up at the thought. Yes, that must be right. Lovino had to be there.

The Spaniard jogged back to his house. He forgot about his sore feet, he forgot about his exhaustion. The only thing on his mind was Lovino.

And there he was. His precious little tomato was safe and sound and was walking in zigzags? He hasn't really arrived yet but it seems that Antonio and Lovino were heading towards the same direction: His house.

He felt his heart jump in chest and his adrenaline rush in his veins from happiness. "Lovi!" He dashed towards the other nation, only to abruptly stop as the Italian turned on his heels, gazing into Antonio's eyes.

What the Spaniard saw crushed him. Lovino looked broken and torn. His eyes were filled with hot tears, still fresh and still rolling down his cheeks. Lovino wasn't scowling like he always was. No, this time, he looked _shattered_. It's not like he was beaten up or anything. But the expression he held, the look in his eyes, it was devastating. It pained Antonio.

"O-Oi, Spain..." Lovino croaked out, his voice cracking. "I give up."

* * *

A/N: Before I end this chapter, I just wanna point out something. This was supposed to take place during the 18th century and here are some fun facts:

Cha cha- This is actually from the 1950s (Latin American Spanish) but I didn't know how to describe how Spain exactly "weaved" through the mess and "cha cha" happened to be legit.

Macarena- I was curious about this as well and... 1993. Just thought we oughta know.

Thank you for taking your time reading this!


	3. Chapter 2

"Señor, please wake up."

Lovino groaned in irritation as someone shook him lightly by the shoulder. His thoughts were as fuzzy as they could get and the last thing he needed was to be woken up.

"Mi amigo, you need to wake up. It's already closing time." The deep masculine voice was unfamiliar to him and this time, he was shaken with a stronger force and a slap on the back which was followed by a hearty laugh. "Haha! You drank a bit too much. Can't handle your drinks, hmm?"

Lovino lazily opened an eye, hovering his gaze over the other man. He was exhausted but this asshole was pissing him off. He pushed himself up from the table, clumsily slipping. "Are you trying to pick a fucking fight?"

"No fights, no fights, my friend." The man shifted his weight on the other leg, placing a hand on his hip. He has an amused look on his face which vexed the Italian further.

Lovino furrowed his brows as he muttered, "Dammit, is this bastard looking down on me?" The Italian wobbly stood up, pointing an accusing finger at the other. He glanced at his side, looking for someone to agree with him but to his dismay, there was nobody else there but the both of them.

"Señor, I appreciate your humour but here," He grasped Lovino's arm, placing it over his shoulders, steadying the nation. "let me help you. See? Isn't this better?"

The Italian didn't protest when the stranger half-carried him outside the pub. There were incoherent grumblings here and there but Lovino allowed himself to be guided.

"Can you manage to get home by yourself?" Asked the man who Lovino now recognised as the pub owner. He set the Italian down and helped him lean on the wall. "It's very late already and I'm surprised that someone as young as you had drunk so much!"

The Italian quirked a brow. Does this guy think he's that stupid?; That he's dumb? He shrugged his shoulders in offence as he said, "Don't underestimate me, idiota."

"Sí, I think you can handle yourself. Take care, el chico."

Lovino once again wandered the streets alone like he had hours ago. He walked as if the foothpath was an unsteady obstacle that he had to dangerously tread on, as if the darkness of the night was annoyingly there to worsen his vision, and as if the almost-silent and cold atmosphere was taunting him. But what bothered him most was the fact that almost every inn was either closed or full and he barely had any money left to book himself a room. It's almost as if life was purposely finding ways to sabotage his plans. He doesn't know where else to go.

"Shit," he softly cursed, feeling frustrated once again. "now what do I do?"

He felt the anger that he attempted to recklessly drink away well up in his chest. Of all times, why did this have to happen to him now? He couldn't think straight and he just wants to rest, to find peace. But every single damn time he does that, shit happens. So this time, he just aimlessly walked around, blindly following wherever his feet would take him.

No, actually, it was more than that. Right now, Lovino feels lost- He _is_ lost. He doesn't know where to go even if he knew this place by heart, he doesn't know what he's doing even if he's just clearly walking. Lovino wants to be found, to be _saved_.

The hidden emotions, the buried distress, and the sealed sorrow he tucked deep inside him was slowly being unearthed and Lovino felt hopeless. He didn't ask for much, he didn't demand for anything great. He just needs a little help, maybe someone to listen, someone to ease the pain and to tell him everything was alright. But why does life have to make everything hard? Why does he have to go through this? Why does he feel as if he doesn't deserve any of those things? It was unfair.

"Is that so fucking difficult to ask for?" He cried out.

Even through the dizziness, he can feel the horrible throbbing of his head. Even through the nausea, he can feel how suffocated his chest is. Even through the stillness of the night, he feels restless; chaotic. It was confusing. Nothing made sense for the Italian anymore. He clenched his fists and stared ahead and he found himself walking towards the place he was trying to avoid: Antonio's house.

He felt stupid. He felt utterly useless again. No matter where he went, his feet always led him back to that damn place. No matter what he did, his thoughts always led back to him, and no matter how hard he tried, he can't run away from Spain.

As if on cue, he heard someone running from behind him and when he turned around, he saw _him_. He saw that warm and welcoming smile heading towards him, he saw that bright emerald eyes glint with relief. He saw Antonio. In that short moment, Lovino felt as if he could tell everything to the other nation. He felt as if he could just spill his soul to whoever was listening just so he wouldn't have to carry this burden alone. Just so he could find a peace of mind and just so he can feel free. It was too painful for him already.

"O-Oi, Spain... I give up."

* * *

It was dark, but oddly, it felt warm and it felt as if Lovino belonged. Darkness embraced him with open arms but the Italian was pulled back to reality when he felt someone shift beside him. That's not right.

Lovino paused for a moment, tensing. He wasn't in darkness, he was asleep. But the thing is, he doesn't remember falling asleep and with that, panic violently churned in his stomach. His eyes flew open and he found himself inches away from another face.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!" He jolted up, pulling the blanket close to his chest and scooting as far as possible from whoever was lying beside him. Suddenly, pain spread like wildfire in his body. He felt sore all over and his curl went rigid. What has he done? Oh god, what did he do when he got drunk? "UNHOLY FUCK."

The other person groaned, still groggy from whatever they had done last night. "Shh, you don't have to yell. It's only me, Lovi."

The Italian lets out another bloodcurdling scream. Out of all people, it just _had_ to be Antonio. "Which is exactly why I'm screaming- because IT IS YOU. What the heck are you doing in my bed?!"

The Italian's chest was rising too fast, his breaths were short and adrenaline continued to rush in his veins. This had to be a nightmare. A very _very_ realistic nightmare.

"Oh that..." Yawning, the Spaniard slowly pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes. "I wasn't able to make it to mine and your bed looked cozy. I couldn't help it."

The Italian has never felt so relieved. At least he didn't screw up badly. That's the last thing he wants to do.

"That's not a re-" He was cut off by a sudden sharp pain. His head felt as if it was gonna explode! He grabbed his hair, trying to ease the pain as his vision was blotted with dark spots. His head spinned. "Oh, crap. Goddamn it, my head hurts."

* * *

 _All he could see was Spain's back. He couldn't see what was in front of them and that was annoying. He twisted to the side to see but that damn bastard's head was blocking the view. He wriggled to the other side, still, he couldn't see anything but the Spaniard's messy hair. This time, he tried to push himself up but the world suddenly flipped in slow motion and sluggishly, everything was upside down._

 _"Mi Romanito, don't move a lot or-" Antonio winced as the Italian landed on the floor with a thud, his legs still dangled at the Spaniard's arms. "Lovi, are you alright?"_

 _Lovino made a funny face at the other nation. "How the fuck did you get so tall?"_

 _"No, Lovino. You're on the floor." The Spaniard replied, trying to stifle a laugh._

* * *

"Shit, what was that?" The Italian stared at the sheets, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty at the unfamiliar memories. "What the hell happened yesterday?!"

Another wave of pain surged in his head and Lovino winced. This confusion didn't help his hangover at all and he drank last night to _forget_. Not to remember this... Whatever this was! He needs to remind himself not to drink too much next time or this won't be the only thing he'll experience. Maybe next time, he'll end up hanging on a tree, or maybe in someone else's house because of his drunkenness. He shook the thoughts off with a shake of his head.

Antonio got out of bed, waving a lazy hand at him with an amused grin. "Not much, really."

"Dammit," The Italian followed him out of bed, not bothering to fix his unruly hair that stuck out in different directions. "why are you smiling like that? Are you insulting me, bastard?"

"Hm? It's because you look so adorable!"

"I am _not_ adorable!" Lovino hissed back, exasperated. He clenched his fists. He wanted answers, not to be irritated. "Just tell me already, jerk."

Whenever Lovino turned red from anger, embarrassment, or irritation, Antonio can't help but think of tomatoes. It's as if Lovino's emotions was burned in that kind of red. That beautiful _tomato_ kind of red. Another one of the few things that he loved about Lovino.

"Tell you what, my precious little tomato?" The other nation replied with another playful smile. He seemed cheerful and much more lively today.

"Don't fucking call me that or I will shove tomatoes down your..." Lovino paused. That line sounded awfully familiar. Then it hit him.

* * *

 _"O-Oi, Spain... I give up." As soon as those words tumbled out of his lips, Lovino collapsed, his consciousness slowly slipping away._

 _The Spaniard instinctively caught the limp Lovino in his arms, feeling overwhelmed. His face was all scrunched up, as if there was a sudden weight on his shoulders and his eyes looked grim. The atmosphere surrounding both the nations suddenly became heavy. What could have made Lovino drunk so much?_

 _Antonio closed his eyes and pulled the Italian close to him in an embrace. If he could, he would take away Lovino's pain, take away whatever's causing him to do this- causing him to destroy himself. It was agonising, even for the Spaniard. Seeing Lovino in such a state broke his heart._

 _"Urgh..." The Italian shifted, paling. Once again, he made another sound as if trying to throw up, but nothing came out of his mouth._

 _Spain pulled away from the other nation, concern evident on his face. "Lovino, are you ill?"_

 _"Isn't it obvious, bastard? I feel sick." The Italian groaned, his voice, hoarse._

 _"Esperar, wait. Let's go in the house first, we're almost inside." Antonio made a move to carry the Italian but was pushed away. He raised a brow at the other nation, confused. "Lovi?"_

 _"I am sick of you."_

 _The word has never struck the Spaniard so hard. It rang in his ears and all he could do was rapidly blink his eyes, taken aback. "¿Qué? What's wrong, my precious little tomato?"_

 _"Sick of you doing... Doing that. Comparing me to a tomato and shit. I mean, do I look like a tomato to you? Fuck."_

 _Antonio could feel a tug on the corner of his lips. Has Lovino really been that bothered with the nickname he gave him? It almost made the Spaniard chuckle but he shook the thoughts off. Right now, he needed to get the both of them inside so he can tend to Lovino. "Lo siento, but Lovi, we should really-"_

 _He was cut off by a complaining Italian who can't seem to get over the name-calling thing. "If I hear you calling me that again, I will shove tomatoes down your throat and... And... I won't eat your damn churros."_

 _"Mi Romanito, I call you that because tomatoes remind me of you." The Spaniard softly replied. Once again, he found himself amused._

 _Sadly, Lovino wasn't listening to him and just went on and on, ranting. "And I'm also sick of your smile. It's fucking annoying. How do you do that? It's so damn bright and blinding. Heck, are you the messiah or something?"_

 _This time, the Spaniard wasn't able to hold back his laughter. He was goofily grinning and he can't help but nearly roll on the floor before breaking into a loud guffaw and snickers._

* * *

Lovino stared at Antonio, horrified as he remembered more broken memories and all the Spaniard did was simply smile back.

The rest of the day was spent with the Italian remembering how he fell down the stairs, how he argued with Spain over a fork, and a bunch of other ridiculousness he did that fateful night. But in the end, Antonio never found out what was troubling Lovino.


	4. Chapter 3

A small and obviously permanent stain on the floor, an almost unnoticeable dent on the wall, and then there's that lingering feeling of 'what used to be.' All of these things aren't supposed to mean anything to Lovino, aren't supposed to hold any _value_ for him, because it was all in the past. They were all supposed to be left behind in the damn past so why were they all still here?

Oh, and has he said that it felt nostalgic? Well, let me scratch that out. It made him feel sick. He didn't expect that there wouldn't be much changes in Spain's place after all these years and that made things worse for him; that made some complications in his decision. Sure, he had fun memories here, precious ones as well; which is why it hurts. Lovino doesn't know what made him think it was "nostalgic" in the first place but now that he's actually walking down the very same halls like he used to before, it all just felt _wrong_ for him to be here.

Lovino continued to walk past these things, trying his best to ignore them and the past that threatened to creep in his head, but it felt more like he was going down the memory lane. Whenever he glanced at one side, he would start to feel nostalgic and a wistful longing would begin to claw him in his chest. Turning away to the opposite side had the same effect on him. It almost felt like he had nowhere to run to. It was awful. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. Although, despite his strong urge of advancing towards the garden to escape from all of this, he found himself glued in place, staring intently at a particular broom that rested against a closet as if it was the most interesting thing he has ever seen. Maybe, that's because it was.

"Lovi, look! I'm half-way done with my work!" The Spaniard's merry voice rang in his ears as Antonio waved his paperwork in the air.

Lovino glanced back and the cheerful sight of the Spaniard flailing his arms around is what greeted him. Well, it must've been his _lucky_ day because, apparently, he stopped across the Spaniard's study.

The Italian was slightly startled but instead of responding violently like he was accustomed to, he settled with raising a brow, arms crossed. His mind lingered mostly on the broom, making him sound slightly detached. "Good job." Antonio beamed at those two simple words that tumbled out of Lovino's lips, that is, until he added, "Now, fuck off and don't talk to me until you actually finish the damn thing."

The Italian resumed to whatever he was doing and Spain, being the carefree ass he is, paid no heed to what the Italian said. He shrugged it off with a soft chortle, placing his pen down to organise the papers before setting it aside. Surely, a little break wouldn't hurt, right? He hummed to a tune as he approached the Italian.

Meanwhile, Lovino pursed his lips as he continued to gawk at the unbelievable sight before him. This was crazy; _Spain_ was crazy! There is no way that bastard could've kept his broom. It was also kept close to his study on top of that. It just made no sense. Well, at least that's what Lovino keeps telling himself. Those four unmistakable scratch marks on the surface of the handle were his. He can even see the poorly carved tomato on the thing. He knew he was responsible for the "marks" on the broom; how could he forget?

The Spaniard raised a brow at Lovino's figure from behind. He's been acting weird lately but maybe that was because he was sick, yes? Or was it something else? Now that he thought of it, is Lovino even sick in the first place? Perhaps, it has something to do with work or maybe he had another fight with his younger brother. That would definitely make sense. Spain smiled to himself. He never knew that Lovino considered him as someone to turn to or comfort him whenever there was an odd turn of events for the Italian, although, Lovino never really talked about what's troubling him. Even from before.

A minute later, Lovino's train of thoughts was interrupted as Spain chirped from behind him, "What're you looking at, mi Romanito?"

Lovino sprang up, scrambling away from the Spaniard. What the flying shit did he just do? He brought a hand to his mouth, covering the blush that tinted his cheeks after realising how cowardly he had just acted. He softly cursed at himself as a crease appeared in between his brow and his gaze was anywhere but on Antonio. "I thought I told you to fuck off." It sounded more like a command than a question.

Without wasting a second, the Italian pushed past Spain, flustered. He briskly traipsed towards his room, eager to hide from this bastard. God, he was making a fool of himself! How could he face Spain now? No, how will he face Spain ever again? He wanted to hit himself or bang his head at the wall. Stupid; that's what he was.

"Ah," the Spaniard started, making Lovino immediately halt. "was it the broom?" Antonio walked towards the broom before casually grabbing it and twisting the handle around in his hands. He tossed it in the air before catching it and showing the old thing to Lovino as if he was advertising a product. "I kept it with me. It still looks great, see?"

Lovino visibly flinched as a darker shade of red began to burn his cheeks. He turned on his heels, his hand nervously tugging on the hem of his shirt. "Broom? Why the fuck would I stare at a damn broom?" He scoffed, jerking his head away from the Spaniard's direction. "That's ridiculous. Maybe you need more sleep, moron."

"This was the broom you used to knock over that shelf! Remember?" Antonio grinned as he said that, completely unaware to how uncomfortable the Italian felt. The Spaniard walked towards Lovino to showcase the broom, an eager look present on his face. God, was he that horrible in reading the atmosphere? As if answering his question, Antonio continued, "You were really cute back then too! So small, so adorable~"

"What do you mean _'back then'_? Are you saying that I look like crap now, huh?" Lovino immediately snapped back.

"Eh?" Antonio jolted backwards, looking confused.

The Italian scoffed at Antonio's reaction, saying, "Well let me tell you this: You were shitty before and you're still shitty up to today. How does that sound, bastard?"

The Spaniard's eyes sparked with joy. "So you do remember!"

"No, of course not! I fucking don't. " Lovino lowered his gaze and clenched his fists. His nails dug into his palm but the pain it caused didn't soothe the uneasiness and queasiness welling in his chest nor did it make the apparent blush on his face, disappear. "Dammit, I don't even know what you're talking about."

 _Lies_.

Of course, Lovino remembers. He knew exactly what Antonio was talking about, but, there's no way he would admit that. Not now, not ever. Maybe it's for the best. Lovino sighed inwardly.

Antonio persisted that Lovino should take a closer look at the broom despite the Italian's protests and colourful words that spillt out of his mouth. "C'mon, Lovi!"

"I said keep that shit away from me." The Italian backed away from Antonio, looking more irritated than he previously did. Dammit, why is this Spaniard stubborn?

"But if you just-"

"No!"

Don't get the Italian wrong; he loves history and all but that damn thing was an exception. Antiques, old paintings, valuable writings, and even statues, he likes them all and treasures them with all his heart. He enjoys looking back at the past of his country, he values traditions, and he simply loves what made his country as it is today. But no, not the broom. Not this bastard's place. Not the memories he left here. Not while he was-

"Hey! Lovi, are you listening to me?" The Spaniard waved a hand in front of Lovino, catching his attention.

Lovino growled as a response and made a move to push Spain away. But, as he brought his hands up to shove Antonio away, the Spaniard immediately placed the broom in hands. The action made Lovino stay completely still.

* * *

He gripped the handle of the broom, frustrated. Why did he have to work anyway? Why does he even bother? Why does that tomato bastard's words even matter to him? As he swept, he struggled to gather the dirt in one place but ultimately failed. This was stupid. Well, he was never one to accept an order. Especially not from Spain. But, Spain's not around, so this was different. He's just doing this for himself. That's right! He can't have himself walk around this untidy house. That's the only reason why he's cleaning now.

Little Lovino glanced back at the hall to see the trail of mess he 'accidentally' left behind: an upturned table, bits of crumpled paper scattered here and there, and the mud. At least, he moved the table aside and the mud was the mop's fault. The paper came from fucking nowhere.

The Italian sighed. Who was he kidding?

No matter what he does, he's pathetically useless. It's a miracle that Spain hasn't tossed him aside and replaced him with his younger brother. He tries to properly arrange objects but end up disfiguring them instead. He tries to clean but for some reason, the whole place ends up messier. He tries to learn Spanish but then- Well, let's just say he fucks up big time whenever he attempts to make himself useful and for some reason, all Spain sees is his mistakes and not the efforts he made. He was better off sleeping instead of actually doing all this damn work the jerk forced him into.

"This is all that bastard's fault!" Lovino gritted his teeth and aggressively swept the floor as if his anger could make the floor squeaky clean.

 _Dammit. Dammit all!_

The Italian flung the broom into the air, fuming. Tears stung his eyes which prompted him to look at his feet. How can he prove that jerk wrong about him being lazy when he can't even do anything right? How can he prove himself to that tomato bastard? Maybe he shouldn't have cleaned after all. Maybe he shouldn't have given a shit about this.

As if on cue, someone picked up his broom and strolled towards him. What? Was this person here to insult him?

"Is something wrong, my precious little tomato?"

Ah, the bastard. Great. Terrific. Exactly what he needed.

Lovino turned his back on Spain and clenched his fists. "What makes you think that?" His voice wavered.

The Spaniard was now looming behind him, placing a hand on the little Italian's shoulder. He sounded anything but insulting like the Italian was expecting him to. "Are you crying?"

"Why the heck would I cry, dammit?" Lovino sniffed once, trying to suppress the sobs and the tears that threatened to come out. "I just got something in my eye."

Antonio gently made the Italian face him and grinned, playing along. "Ay, why didn't you say so? Come closer and let Boss Spain blow it away." His voice sounded warm and soothing, and his emerald eyes glinted with amusement, making Lovino feel as if he was being mocked.

Little Lovino frowned and immediately snapped back, "I don't need your damn help."

"Oh, but if you don't do something about it, wouldn't it irritate your eye? Boss can't allow that! You won't be as cute after!"

God, this Spaniard was getting on his nerves. Lovino could feel his eye twitching in annoyance. Even if his eye was irritated or not, that doesn't mean he won't be adorable, dammit! That Spain was doing this on purpose, Lovino was sure of it! He's making fun of him; looking down on him and making him feel smaller than he already was.

Out of anger, the Italian blurted out, "There's nothing in my eye, jerk, so stay away from me!" He realised the blunder he made after and began cursing. Why did he have to be so stupid? Wait, no. Maybe that Spaniard infected him with his idiocy. That's right! This is all the tomato bastard's fault so why is Lovino the one feeling embarrassed?

While Lovino was busying himself with his inner monologue, Spain took the time scanning the place. He chuckled softly at the sight. Lovino tried to clean _again_. That's the only explanation for this. And maybe, the Italian's clumsiness played a huge role in this as well. So this was what's causing the frown on Lovi's face? Maybe he should show Lovino how to clean - that is if the Italian would listen to him which rarely happens.

Spain softly smiled at Lovino and held the smaller boy's hand. "You know, Lovi, you don't have to try too hard. If you need help, all you need to do is ask. Boss is always here for you!" He paused, placing the Italian's broom in his hands, making Lovino tightly clasp his hands around the handle.

"Boss my ass," The Italian muttered under his breath but his comment went unnoticed.

"Oh, and I'll cook you some pasta if you want, sí? Would that cheer you up? Take a break from all the cleaning!"

"I-I wasn't cleaning!" Lovino answered, indignant, before shuffling his feet and awkwardly fumbling with the broom. "And you better put a lot of tomatoes on that damn pasta."

With that, Lovino realised it was alright to make mistakes; that it was alright not to be perfect; that it was alright to be himself as long as he learns from it and also, he realised that an idiot will always be an idiot - specifically, _Spain_ will always be an idiot.

Spain enthusiastically nodded while flashing Lovino a closed-eye smile, a smile that made Lovino feel secure. "Anything for m-"

* * *

The flashback was interrupted as a maid arrived. Lovino vigorously shook his head, making himself entirely snap out of it, before abruptly dropping the broom and sprinting away.

Spain flashed a questioning look at the Italian's disappearing figure. What just happened? Lovino went dead silent for an entire minute as if the broom had cast a freezing spell on him. Then, he just... dashed away? Are those the side effects of being stressed? Was Lovino really sick after all? Maybe he was mad because Antonio didn't "fuck off". The Spaniard was confused.

Someone clears her throat saying, "Excuse me, Señor Antonio."

Spain immediately replaced his contorted face with a grin. "Ah, Teresa! Beautiful as ever, sí? What brings you here?"

The maid kept her gaze downcast and easily brushed off the compliment Antonio gave her. "El documentos, mi señor. I was sent to retrieve the documents."

The Spaniard apologetically scratched the back of his head. "I'm not really finished with it yet... Oh! But I'll send them to you at the end of the day. Would that be alright?"

"Noted, Señor Antonio." Teresa duly bowed, dismissing herself.

Antonio returns to his study and as soon as he closed the door behind him, he clasped his hands together, formulating a plan that he probably won't go with later, but, he thinks anyway. If Lovino trusts him enough to actually rely on him, then the least he could do is act as a proper support, right? He definitely won't let the Italian down! And the documents, you ask? Well, that can wait till later. He has all day! There's a lot of time for that. Right now, it's Lovino that matters and that Spaniard knows his priorities.

Antonio grabbed his pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper before grinning wildly. He seemed proud and sure of whatever he was writing.

"It's time to initiate Operation: Make the tomato happy!" Spain yelled to no one in particular while fist pumping. But then, his enthusiasm was cut short as his stomach growled. "Well, maybe after a snack."

* * *

Lovino slammed the door shut and slid down to the floor. Fuck, what was that just now? He clutched his chest, trying to calm his thundering heart but did not avail. He buried his face in his hands, anxious. For quite some time, he stayed frozen in that position.

 _Get a fucking grip, Lovino!_

The Italian breathed heavily into the palm of his hand as if his problems would go away by doing so, and obviously, it didn't. Instead of lashing out on a random object, he lets out a resigned sigh. He needed to calm down. He reminded himself that even if that bastard was insanely powerful or even if he was the goddamn country of passion, that didn't mean he could read minds. Also, if anything goes wrong, he still has Antonio's denseness to rely on. Right, he still isn't as hopeless as he thought he was. Antonio doesn't need to find out at all.

Lovino proceeded to saunter further into the room before abruptly flopping down onto the bed. If this goes on, it would make things worse for Lovino. Should he just leave after all? Should he settle things once and for all? That is the best choice but...

 _Time_.

Lovino needed a little more time. He wasn't ready just yet. He could extend it a bit, right? This is the least he could do for himself. After all, he has made up his mind. He won't go back on his decision; couldn't bear to, rather, he has no choice but to stick with it. So, just a little bit more time and it would be okay.

"Ah, fuck this." Lovino's voice was muffled by the pillow. He clenched his fists on the sheets of the bed, a strained cry escaping his lips. "I just need to bathe this shit off."

The Italian stripped off as soon as he entered the bathroom. Before actually stepping into the bath tub, he found himself gripping the edges of the sink, staring intently at his reflection. The person who stared back at him looked exhausted, wait, no. That person looked confounded and unsure. His eyes gazed back at him, hauntingly, but, there were still traces of a red tint on his face. Lovino closed his eyes, taking deep breaths before opening them again. Those olive eyes of his, will someone remember them? His unruly curl, will it remind someone of him? And will tomatoes- tomatoes? The only person he knows who would think of tomatoes in this situation was the bastard Spain. What was he doing? Why does his thoughts always lead back to tomatoes and that asshole? Now wasn't the time to think about such things

Lovino quickly shook his head. "Dammit, maybe I'm the one who needs sleep."

Before the Italian could even dip his feet in the tub, the door to the bathroom burst open, revealing an excited Spaniard whose head poked through the huge opening. "Lovi, are you here?"

Speaking of the devil.

Lovino scrambled backwards, screaming as he did so. Antonio has a natural talent of catching others off guard and he seemed to do it best at unsual situations as well. Was this really the personification of the great country of Spain? Lovino found himself falling into the bath tub stark naked and still screaming.

The Spaniard shushed him, "Shh, Lovi, you don't have to yell. It's just me." Antonio's assuring words were far from assuring. It nearly gave Lovino a heart attack.

The Italian landed with a splash and he immediately tried to reach for something that could cover him up. A shower curtain, a hand towel by the sink, _whatever!_ "What the heck do you think you're doing here?!"

"Oh, I was looking for you earlier and your door was unlocked so I let myself in," Spain chimed. "Anyway, I was wondering if we could go visit the bakery or maybe the plaza? We can even go to one of the nearby bookstores! Ay! How about we dance the Flamenco? Sí, that would be a gre-"

"The door was open so you just let your ass in?! Ever heard of knocking?" Lovino burnt a deep red, trying to form more insulting words but ultimately failing as his embarrassment prevailed his indignation. Antonio, on the other hand, just looked at him as clueless as ever. He wasn't even abashed in the slightest. "C-Can't you see I'm taking a damn bath?! Quit staring at me, you bastard!"

The Spanirard simply tilted his head. "Is that a yes or a no?"

Lovino grabbed a soap and flung it towards Antonio. "It means: Get the fuck out!"

The soap hit the Spaniard square in the face, causing him to jerk his head back. Antonio rubbed his sore forehead and trailed his fingers down his probably bleeding nose. "Oww, that hurt! You don't have to be so mean, Lovi." He bent down to pick up the object that collided with his face earlier.

Seeing that the Spaniard still hasn't left, this infuriated Lovino. This time, the Italian threw a toothbrush at Antonio which was followed after by a cup, a slipper, a faucet, and a bunch of other objects that seemingly came out of fucking nowhere. The room was practically raining with hygienic, cleaning, and random things that magically materialised within Lovino's reach. Well, that's what it seemed for Antonio.

Antonio withdrawed from the bathroom, shutting the door close as he did so. He was eager to avoid whatever hazards Lovino hurled at him. The Spaniard shook his head. Geez, Lovino was awfully a lot more violent today. Maybe he _did_ do something wrong after all.

Lovino rubbed his temples in frustration. Now that the bastard's out, he should remember to lock the door next time and he better finish his bath as soon as possible. Who knows what Spain would do next if Lovino wasn't around? Lovino reached for the soap and his face goes grim in an instant. _il sapone, it was gone._

The Italian groaned inwardly. This was surely Antonio's fault. Lovino cleared his throat, bellowing, "Oi, give me back the... The thing. The," He gritted his teeth, muttering, "che cosa diavolo è che pezz- THE SOAP!"

A few seconds later, the door slowly opened and a familiar hand slipped in, pushing the soap towards Lovino's direction before slipping out again and shutting the door close.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yes! I have returned after... Er... A few months.

Pushing that aside, how was the update? Was there any error especially in some Italian phrases? Feel free to correct me and do some critic. Annnd, one more thing: the chapter wasn't dragging, now was it?


	5. Chapter 4

"Stay still, bastard."

"A-Ah!" The Spaniard moaned, tears building in the corner of his eyes. "Can you be a bit more gentle, Lovi?"

"It would hurt more if you keep moving around like that, dammit."

Lovino shoved a tissue at the other nostril of Antonio, making the Spaniard flinch and scrunch his nose response. It was funny because the one who caused Antonio's nosebleed in the first place is Lovino, which is also the same guy who's patching him up now. The Italian propped his hands on his hips, raising a suggestive brow at the other saying, "So, moron, what is it that you wanted to talk about?"

The Spaniard's eyes lit up in delight and that idiotic smile made its way to his lips. The visual effect of his face was enhanced by the tissue stuffed in his nostrils. "I was wondering if we could – "

"No."

Antonio was taken aback. He blinked a couple of times before gesturing to the Italian. "But I haven't even said anything yet, _mi Romanito_."

"Exactly." Lovino glared down at the figure sitting on his bed. "We aren't doing anything today. Specifically, _you_ won't be doing anything today. You look worse than a rotting banana peel and those tissues might be more than a hint for you to get some damn rest today. "

If Antonio had been in his right state of mind, he would've stated that the tissue wasn't his fault, but instead, the Spaniard jolted up, saying, "I'm fine, Lovi. I swear! See?" He made a vain attempt of proving his point by motioning a hand towards himself, showing his rumpled clothes, a mop of hair messier than the Italian's bedroom, and yes, that ridiculous white thing sticking out from his nose. Lovino raised another brow at him in a sarcastic manner. The Spaniard dropped his hands to his side and drew his eyebrows together. "I'm – "

"Taking a siesta."

" _¿Que?"_

With one push, the Spaniard found himself lying back down at the bed. The Italian pushed Antonio into a more comfortable position with a foot and carelessly threw the covers over him. "You're not going anywhere, stupid. Sleep or I'll fucking knock you out cold myself."

Lovino knew where this was going. The more time he'll spend with the bastard, the harder it'll be for him. He only came here for one reason. The Italian involuntarily furrowed his brows. Okay, maybe it was more than one reason but surely, he didn't plan on staying here for more than a day! His plan has definitely gone off the rails but it's not too late to fix it and... _leave._

He glanced at the Spaniard, and for a moment, emerald met forest green. Lovino quickly looked at the other direction. If he chooses to turn away from the last chance he'll probably get to enjoy his time with the Spaniard, will he regret it? He found his gaze trailing back to Spain who stared back at him, confused.

"Ah, fuck it. Let's go."

* * *

The Italian stuffed his hands in his pocket and wore a scowl as they took a stroll at the plaza. Spain was humming a stupid tune to himself and generally, he seemed as if he was having fun. Well, even before Lovino came, Antonio would occasionally take a break from his work, or run away from his responsibilities, rather, and walk around the plaza to clear his mind. He thought that maybe it would also work on Lovino which explains why there is a grumpy Italian and a cheerful Spaniard walking side by side.

Antonio glimpsed at the other before exclaiming, "Oh c'mon, Lovi! Smile! _Sonrisa_! The weather is lovely and the air is quite refreshing, _sí_?"

As if on cue, the weather gloomed and both nations were greeted by drizzle which was abruptly followed by an aggressive downpour. It's almost as if the skies were intentionally sabotaging Antonio's plan.

Under all that rain, Lovino found the leisure to sarcastically reply, "You were saying?"

The two found themselves running. They were in the middle of the plaza so there wasn't any particular place they could take shelter in. Very convenient, isn't it? Maybe Antonio is just coincidentally bad at reading the weather _and_ picking a place or maybe misfortune just seems to follow Lovino everywhere.

The crowd from the plaza scattered in an instant and among them was Lovino and Antonio. You can distinguish surprised gasps and Spanish curses among the running crowd but above all that noise, you can hear a string of unimaginable words of wisdom from a certain Italian, but Antonio doesn't seem to be bothered and instead, he took off his coat and pulled Lovino under it with him to avoid being further soaked by the rain.

"What do you think you're doing, you bastard?!" The Italian was about to push Antonio away, surprised by this spontaneous action, but the sheer look of excitement on the Spaniard's face made him hesitate and continue running beside the other nation.

Goofily grinning, Spain looked back at Lovino and asked, "Ah, _lo siento_. Did you say something?"

Lovino wanted to mentally slap himself for what he was about to say. "I said run faster, _idiota._ "

Eventually, they stumbled on the main road but kept running to seek shelter. The Spaniard's previously nest of a hair now stuck to his head in a bunch of wet locks but the glint of thrill in his eyes remained. These days, it was rare to see Spain like that; being happy without being held back by any burden or problem. The Italian couldn't help but crack a small smile. Antonio's laugh was contagious and right now, he was laughing like an idiot. But, because one was too busy being distracted and the other was caught up in his excitement, both failed to notice the puddle ahead.

 _Splash!_

" _Merda!"_

" _¡Dios mío!"_

Muddy water decorated the hem of Lovino's pants to his waist as well as the Spaniard. But Spain was more worried of the murderous look in the Italian's eyes rather than the dirt all over him.

"Lovi, I swear to God, I didn't mean it." Antonio moved away from the other, cautiously putting his hands up in defence. "It was an accident!"

Still, Lovino sauntered towards him, rolling his sleeves up, which was not a good sign. The Italian only ever did that when he either cooked or if things were about to get messy and Antonio guessed it was the latter. Still, he futilely defended himself.

"Maybe we can talk this over coffee?"

There was a mischievous gleam in Lovino's eyes and Antonio shook his head as if trying to convince the other to change his mind or to make him stop. But of course, the Italian didn't and instead, he sloshed over the puddle and kicked a good amount of sludge towards Spain.

" _¡Ay!_ "The Spaniard glanced at his ruined clothes and the huge dark stain on the centre of his shirt. He shot Lovino a warning look and the other nation instantly got the message and this time, the Italian was the one moving backwards.

"Spain, no. It was just a joke," Lovino nervously began. "Don't fucking – "

 _Splash!_

Under the heavy shower, both nations started an improvised water fight. They took turns splashing water and only God knows what's in there. Mud splattered here and there, and with every movement they made, water sprayed from their wet locks. Passers-by stopped to give them funny looks, to mock their childish behaviour, or to simply smile at how ridiculous yet fun both nations look like.

"Take that, bastard!"

Spain shielded himself from the Italian's offensive attack and the water splayed when it came in contact with his hands. Antonio drops his arms to his side and he seems to have successfully emerged, nearly unscathed, at the other nation's move. Laughing, the Spaniard good-naturedly huffs, "Hah, you may have forgotten that the waters are _always_ in my favour, _mi Romanito_!"

Lovino had a mocking smirk on his lips while Antonio gave a challenging smile at the other. The Spaniard rolls his shoulder and shakes his legs as Lovino's expression morphs into confusion, puzzled at whatever shenanigan this asshole was up to. That was until Spain made a mad dash towards Lovino. The action throws the Italian off-guard and he was caught between back pedalling and sidestepping. Before Antonio can glomp the other, Lovino stumbles on his own feet and slips backwards on the mud.

"Ack!"

The Spaniard's eyes widened in surprise and he dug his heels in the slippery ground to skid to a stop, but the action backfires and he was sent flying like a frantic pelican towards the Italian. Antonio felt his feet leave the ground and everything went in slow motion as he accidentally hurled his body towards the other.

In that short yet painfully drawn moment, Antonio could see the panic-stricken face of Lovino and his outstretched arms, the tiny droplets plummeting towards the cold earth, and the water spraying upwards from the Italian's impact on the small pool of mud and rainwater. Then, he came crashing down.

A pained groan escaped from something below him and he himself flinched at the sound. That definitely did not sound and feel right. When the Spaniard's eyes fluttered open, he finally felt the dull throbbing of his torso and the body shifting beneath him. Apparently, he had straddled the Italian.

Antonio half-lifted himself up and with a shaky breath, he asked, "Are you alright?"

He looked down at the figure below him, water dripping from his wet locks to Lovino's face and the Italian grimaced in response, eyes closed. They stayed still like that for a few moments, panting, and probably unable to move from the pain.

"Lovi?"

Lovino finally groaned back, "Ugh… I think I broke a fucking bone." He was about to roll his eyes back and murmur a couple indecent curses about the pain when, instead, their eyes met.

Antonio's mouth hung open, as if he was about to profusely apologise, but nothing tumbled out of his lips. It was as if he frozen in place, captivated by the fact that he was so close to Lovino that he could actually see the flecks of gold in the other's eyes despite the furious rain raging around them. Suddenly, out of the blue, both men sneezed simultaneously. The tension between them dissipated and they both broke into a fit of laughter as Antonio rolled off of the Italian and lied beside him.

A few minutes after their uncontrollable snorts and cackles, they both silently agreed to get out of the rain and stay under a protruding roof of a nearby house, finally feeling the cold.

The Italian ruffled his hair a bit, trying to remove as much water as he can while mumbling incoherent words to himself. But between all the gabbles of Lovino, Antonio can't help but notice the slight trembling and small jerky movements the other portrayed. The Spaniard glanced at the damp coat over his shoulders, back at the shivering Italian, and back at the coat again. He shook his head hopelessly.

Despite the cold that Lovino felt, he refused to say anything and still preferred to keep things to himself. Now that Antonio thought of it, he and Lovino greatly contrast each other. The Italian was irritable and often crunched his brows together as if deep in thought or as if he's carrying a weight. You'd always see a scowl on his face except when he wasn't scowling. But, the coldness and grouchiness Lovino showed masked his compassion and selflessness. He'd complain about a lot of things and insult you but that's only because he cares. That's his way of showing it and Antonio is one of the few that actually notices this. This time, it's Antonio's turn.

The Spaniard takes off his coat and just as he was about to place it on the other nation's shoulder, Lovino moves away, pointing at the opposite direction, completely unaware of Antonio's idiotic feat of warming him up. By accident, Spain drops his coat on the floor instead of the other's shoulder.

"Oi, didn't you say you wanted to go to the bookstore?" He looked back at the Spaniard who now crouched on the floor pathetically to pick up the garment. Raising an incredulous brow, Lovino said, "What the heck are you doing?"

Antonio chose to laugh nervously and to change the subject to avoid further embarrassment. " _¡Ah, sí!_ " He abruptly stood up, the pain of practically going superman right into another body forgotten. He now has a newfound hope for his so-called _Operation: Make the tomato happy_ at the mention of the place. He chose this place particularly because he knew how much of a dork Lovino is for novels. "You'll love it there, _mi Romanito_! That place is amazing. They have a lot of good books and accessories. Also, if you buy a lot of their goods, they offer you a disc— Lovi?" He glanced around to find the person he was talking to missing.

It seems that while the Spaniard was babbling and praising the bookstore, Lovino already left to check it out. And up ahead, he can indeed see a figure jogging, his curl bouncing along his every step. Guess the Italian was excited, after all.

That was another thing that never ceased to amaze Antonio: that gravity-defying curl of the Italian. Oh, and his ability to disappear without being noticed. Really, though. How can that stubborn curl remain sticking out despite all the rain?

Not long after, the Spaniard followed suit. But when he arrives at their destination, what he sees breaks his heart. The bookstore is closed. Out of all the days, the owner decides to close it now.

"Oh…" Antonio sighed dejectedly, eyes flitting over the bold figures that crushed his excitement. **E** **D.** No matter how long he stared at it, it didn't change

The Spaniard expected a sarcastic and annoyed reply from Lovino, but instead, he sees the Italian trudging away, equally disheartened as Antonio was with his back turned. Lovino glances back saying, "What're you waiting for, dumbass? Let's go home."

The intense downpour was reduced to a mere drizzle at this point and their filthy clothes is more than enough reason to indeed return but Antonio wasn't done yet. With a silly smile on his lips, he grabbed the Italian by his arm and yanked him backwards. "We still have one more place to go to!"

" _What?_ You must be out of your mind! We're going to catch a fucking cold!"

"We're already out here, Lovi, so let's make the most of it!"

* * *

" _A toast to the land  
Of red and gold,  
Of silver seas,  
Of men so bold!_

" _Cheers to the land  
Together, let's cry:  
España! España!  
To you, our loyalties lie!"_

Lovino grimaced at the rowdy Spanish drunkards that wailed louder than a dog in the middle of the night. They roughly clanked their drinks, spilling some on the floor, before bursting into laughter. Some were as drenched as he and Spain were. Others have probably dried off or have taken shelter in this pub, but one thing's for sure: they're all stoned as hell. Guess what? It's just five in the afternoon. Who knew that the rain could make all the morons flock together?

The Italian took a sip from his drink quietly, not quite wanting to repeat his mistake a few days ago. Even from his place in the corner of the stuffed pub, he can hear the lively strumming of guitar and the familiar snort coming from the person playing it.

" _Mi amigo,_ let's hear another song!" A man suggested and the others in the room grunted in agreement. Even the pub owner seemed pleased that the bastard was keeping his customers entertained. It's almost as if eight damn songs weren't enough.

Antonio laughed and rested his hand atop the guitar. "Okay, okay. What song?"

A round of cheers resounded, and a few began bickering over patriotic songs and sappy crap. Lovino simply glared at the Spaniard. He was practically abandoned the moment they stepped into the place and it stayed like that since then. Well, Spain would occasionally call out and ask if he was doing fine, but that doesn't count! He dragged the Italian in there and it's only right that he should take responsibility.

As much as Lovino hated it, his foot did tap to the upbeat and cheerful rhythm of a couple songs. He can't deny that, but he silently seethed the Spaniard in his seat, nonetheless.

Finally, Antonio caught his fierce gaze and flashed him a grin ridiculously, all the while waving a hand. The Italian glowered and whipped his head around to avoid Spain's stare, downing his liquor in one go before calling out to the pub owner yet again for another drink. Just in time before Antonio started singing once more.

" _My lady, my pretty lady,  
I'm afraid I have to go, oh  
No, don't cry, don't cry  
This is not goodbye yet_

" _My lady, my pretty lady,  
Believe me when I say  
I'll return to you someday  
This is not goodbye yet"_

The bastard ran his fingers softly over the strings, playing with his heart rather than his head. His head swayed to the velvety yet catchy notes that he played on the guitar and the previously boisterous and insufferable guffaws died down into whispers and eventually, they sang along, echoing the lively song.

" _Ay ay ay, my beloved,  
I need to go away, far away  
But I promise, I'll see you again  
So this isn't goodbye yet _

" _Ay ay ay, my beloved,  
Even if I do go, even if I do  
With you, my heart will stay  
So don't say goodbye yet"_

The drunkards thumped their hands against the table, the beats complementing the guitar's vigorous chords. Lovino slumped in his seat, keeping a nonchalant look on his face despite the wild churning of his insides. This part was probably the instrumental solo, but that wasn't the one bothering the Italian. It was the song itself.

The Spaniard expertly plucked the strings of the guitar just as he had with the strings of Lovino's heart these past few days. It was so overwhelming and annoying because as powerful as it made the Italian feel, it also made him vulnerable. He hated that – being vulnerable – because that's all he's ever been.

" _Hey! Hey!"_ There they go, chanting repetitively, clueless to the real meaning of the song. Some even began clapping to bring more life to the tune.

Lovino pretended to examine his shot glass in hand and grimaced, realising that it's quite difficult to keep the voice out of his head. It's quite ironic how such an upbeat song has the most depressing lyrics. How can people sing this with a dynamic tune? How could they clink their cups annoyingly all the while parroting the same lyrics with equal glee?

He turned to look at Antonio, not expecting to find that all this time, Spain was looking at him and singing to _him,_ not to the old ass drunkards, but _him._

Antonio gave a small closed-lip smile when he finally caught the attention of the Italian, his hands still strumming lively notes from his guitar. In that moment, Lovino felt his heart sting with an all too familiar pang. Instead of throwing a glare or scowling like he'd usually do, he forced himself to jerk his head away from the Spaniard's direction, masking the pain and guilt roiling in him with indifference, but his eyes betrayed him. Not that anyone noticed.

The song slowly died down and the Italian was about to return to numbing himself with alcohol when all of a sudden, he was led away from the bar to the centre where both men and women pranced about, dancing to another famous song being played.

"What the –!"

"Cut the drinks, Lovi, and have fun!"

Well, let's leave it to Antonio to interrupt the Italian every single damn time he tried to do something. Lovino wanted to roll his eyes and shove the Spaniard away, but he didn't. He allowed himself to be led away while grumbling, "I _am_ having fun, dammit."

" _¿Le gustaría bailar?_ Would you like to dance, _mi Romanito_?" The Spaniard disregarded what the other said and looked back at Lovino, a genuine and eager look in those emeralds paired with another refreshing smile. In short, Antonio looked like an idiot .

Lovino feigned annoyance and sighed, saying, "Do I even have a choice?"

Antonio simply gave a hearty laugh and dragged the Italian into a dance which is something he soon came to regret.

The music played was fast, exciting, and most especially demanding. The Spaniard tapped his foot in time with the beats, urging Lovino to do the same. Lovino, despite confidently knowing how to dance, purposely stomped on Antonio's foot just for the sake of doing it. _Repeatedly._ After all, he had the opportunity to do so, and opportunities are meant to be grabbed, not ignored.

The Spaniard's face morphed into pain, but he forced out a smile, saying, "Y-You're doing good, Lovi!"

"Damn right I am, you jerk," came the reply.

Antonio decided to portray a couple more moves in accordance with the dance and perhaps to show the Italian how it's done properly. He gestured to Lovino to do the same, encouraging him to follow the steps.

The Italian happily complied while _accidentally_ stepping on Antonio's foot from time to time. Oh, he was determined to give the Spaniard some fun like he was asking for. A subtle smirk graced his lips whenever the other supressed a pained groan.

Sweat rolled down Antonio's forehead and onto his chin. They have been on the dance floor for an excessively long time and boy, does his body hurt! He doesn't know how Lovino had managed to elbow him, crush his foot, or even bump into him with such force that knocked out his breath! It was just supposed to be a simple and enjoyable dance, not a brawl, for crying out loud. And here he thought he was the clumsy one between the both of them.

Also, the Spaniard doesn't know whether it was just him, but did Lovino actually snicker whenever he pulled a sadistic move on him? Maybe the Italian just had too much drinks. No, maybe _he_ had too much drinks. Maybe the smell of alcohol was enough to intoxicate him. That was possible, right?

Antonio shook his head at the ridiculous idea, and instead, made a mental note to teach Lovino how to dance _and_ to never encourage the Italian to continue stepping at his foot. The Spaniard nodded approvingly to himself.

He took out his pocket watch, and his eyes widened in surprise. Forty-five minutes past nine? They were out late for _that_ long?

" _¡Mi Romanito!"_

" _S_ _ì_ _?"_ Lovino slurred, probably drunk at this point. He grabbed another drink from the bar, downed it, before walking towards the Spaniard. "What do you want, bastard?"

Draping an arm around the Italian's shoulder, Antonio led him to the pub's exit, saying, "It's time we go home."

Surprisingly, Lovino was silent on the way home. No curses, insults, or complains were flung at the Spaniard like usual. But, to Antonio, that silence was comfortable. It didn't strike him odd when the Italian obediently followed behind him with nothing but the cold night's breeze and the small lit lanterns accompanying them. To him, it wasn't eerie, but a peaceful evening. A _perfect_ and peaceful evening. Finally, his mission was complete.

Soon, Antonio and Lovino arrived and what greeted them both was Teresa with an impatient look on her face.

The Spaniard ushered Lovino away and turned to the servant, shooting her a concerned look. "Is there something wrong?"

" _Señor_ , I've come for the documents. They are needed by the office." Teresa took in the sudden silence of her boss and his ungodly appearance: stained and crinkled clothes, soggy shoes, and dishevelled hair. She raised a brow at the nation, saying, "You've done them, haven't you?"

Gulping, Antonio tugged at his collar in an attempt to loosen the tight feeling that settled in his chest. "Erm…"

" _¿Señor?"_

In that moment, the entire concept of "peacefulness" was thrown out of the Spaniard's window as he rushed to his study room to finish what he started.

* * *

A/N: Oh, what is this? A chapter update? Yes!

We need more Spamano in our lives so here ya have it! Oh and don't forget to leave a **review** so I'd know what your thoughts are and how well the story was written :)

Also, thank you so much for sticking this long with "But You'll Never Know". Well, you guys probably already know this but all things must come to an end, and yes, we are almost done with this multi-chap. I'm grateful for all of you who has continued reading this far and for your continued support even just by reading. You guys are the best!


	6. Chapter 5

The Final Chapter

As Lovino lay in bed, he found the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. God, he wanted to slap himself for feeling silly and stupid, but he couldn't help it. Although _nothing_ went according to the Spaniard's "plan", everything still fell in place as if it was meant to do that. _They_ still fell in place no matter how screwed up everything else has been and knowing that made him feel lucky; it made him feel that it was alright to belong and to have someone to make him feel belonged.

The Italian rolled on his side, and even if he won't admit it, he was glad he chose to spend his time with Antonio. He almost never regretted it. _Almost._ Suddenly, the thoughts he tried to distract himself from came rushing back to him. In that moment, he realised that he couldn't go on and continue ignoring the elephant in the room; he couldn't go on ignoring his and his brother's unification; he couldn't ignore the fact that only one of them would be chosen to represent and the other, to dissolve.

Lovino dug his fingers in his palm, the smile on his face fading. It wasn't fair. It didn't feel right.

He felt happy. On the first night, he literally drank till he dropped, and woke up to a splitting headache and a silly asshole grinning at him. But then, Feliciano deserved to experience that, too. He deserved to have a chance to waste a night of his life away and have someone also grinning back at him when he wakes up the next day.

Feliciano deserved to be able to look back at his past, to be able to laugh at the ridiculous things he used to do, and to be able to have someone remind him of the odd quirks he used to have. Heck, he deserved to have a mud fight, to step on someone's foot while dancing, to love and be loved. His _fratellino_ deserved so much more. The answer is pretty clear yet why can't Lovino make a choice?

Oh, that's right. Because, just as like Feliciano, he, _too,_ deserved all of those. At least, he thought he did. He wanted to live so bad that it hurts.

The Italian curled up, drawing his knees closer to his chest. "This isn't fair, dammit."

Is it selfish for him to think that way? Does it make him seem like an uncaring asshole? Does he have the right to consider himself an older brother to Feliciano for thinking like this?

A tear slid down his face and Lovino struggled to choke back a sob. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was just all in his head. Maybe it's just the _truth._ The horrible and cruel truth still unbeknownst to his oblivious brother.

The Italian forced himself up from bed and decided that it was time.

He strolled over to the desk with a crumpled small envelope he was meaning to give Antonio since the first day he came here for a "visit". The moment he leaves that piece of paper here is the moment he will have make up his mind. He pressed the object to his lips, whispering a few words to it, before finally placing it down on the desk.

That was it. He'd done it.

Lovino packed some stuff he had brought with him, slung the bag over his shoulder and left in the dead of night, leaving nothing behind but that letter as evidence that he had indeed been there. As evidence that he could finally let go.

 _As evidence to his final farewell to the bastard._

* * *

 _The next day…_

Antonio held the letter in his hands, his thumb brushing over the two words written on the parchment in a handwriting he knew too well.

 _Thank you._

The Spaniard gave a small smile. He didn't find out what Lovino's problem was, but he was glad that in a way, he was able to help the other.

"Ay, he never changes, does he?" Antonio laughed, shoving the letter in his pocket. "That's Lovi for you!"

He never really understood the Italian. He comes and he goes, but what matters is that whenever he does leave, he'd surely return, and when Lovino comes back again, he'd welcome him like he always does. After all, the Italian was his ray of sunshine, his grumpy ball of happiness, and his precious little tomato; he was Lovino Vargas.

* * *

 **A/N:** And this marks the end of "But You'll Never Know".

We've come this far and my first multi-chaptered story has finally come to an end. I'm thankful for all of you guys who have stuck with this story despite the horribly long updates. You guys are the best!

Now, am I going to be an asshole for promoting a couple of oneshots of mine to ya'll? xD

So… Apparently, I made a thing that happened during the Unification of Italy. One in Romano's POV (The Price to Pay) and the other in Veneziano's POV (A Little Too Late). Yes, I used their other names Romano (Rome) and Veneziano (Venice) because it sort of fits in better with the story. And yeah, I connected BYNK with those oneshots because why not? Which also means: YAY, MORE ANGST.

Thank you so so much you guys!


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